


The One Adventuring Atlantean

by Lenore



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fairy Tales, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-11
Updated: 2007-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atlantis to the tune of "The Twelve Dancing Princesses."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Adventuring Atlantean

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to [](http://kassrachel.livejournal.com/profile)[**kassrachel**](http://kassrachel.livejournal.com/) for the speedy beta! This is for my dear, dear [](http://barely-bean.livejournal.com/profile)[**barely_bean**](http://barely-bean.livejournal.com/) who is having a birthday in a couple of hours. I hope you have a wonderful day, darling!

Once upon a time, there was a land called Atlantea, and a proud, prosperous land it was. Crops flourished in the fields. The people went to bed each night well fed and contented. Order was the rule, and tranquility reigned everywhere. Indeed, there was only one thing missing from this idyllic place: a sense of adventure.

For you see, long, long ago—no one knew exactly how many years, just _many_ —Atlanteans had been a space-faring people, using the technology of the Ancestors to go from planet to planet exploring, and in these travels had come upon a Great Enemy. This was as specific as the history books got, Great Enemy, and people were left to fill in the blanks for themselves. Some surmised that the threat must have been fire-breathing dragons, others thought demons, and a few (generally known as crackpots) insisted that the great scourge of the galaxy had actually been Grossly Ugly Space-vampires (GUS's for short), who ate people for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

This theory appealed to children in addition to crackpots, not because the children were gullible enough to actually believe it, but because they enjoyed terrorizing one another with gory tales of great cauldrons filled with people-stew or drying racks of people-jerky. _You can't really eat humans_ , they'd assure themselves when the notion of ending up a midnight snack grew too disturbing.

In any event, the fact remained that Something Bad happened back in the days of yore, whether it was dragons or demons or the unlikely GUS's. Though the threat had long since been vanquished, all of the Atlanteans in all of the land were taught from the time that they were knee high these three guiding principles: Curb your curiosity. Stick close to home. Technology only when necessary.

It was this philosophy that had kept Atlanteans safe, if somewhat bored, for generations.

At the center of all this ho-hum harmony was the Castle, a bustling bureaucracy of some three hundred bean counters and paper pushers. Requests flowed in from villages all across the land, for a new windmill or permission to try a different irrigation method or some such thing, carefully reviewed by a dedicated team of auditors, approved or denied, all dutifully filed in triplicate. The best and brightest students vied for the handful of entry-level positions that came open each year, studying day and night for the Castle Service Entrance Exams (CSEEs), for that elusive chance to board the ship that would take them across the water, over to the gleaming spires they'd long admired.

Here Rodney McKay toiled away each day, holder of the highest score on the CSEEs of anyone, ever, the self-proclaimed smartest man in all of Atlantea. He put his prodigious intellect to work in the service of ambition and had managed to ascend the bureaucratic ladder all the way up to Chief Recordkeeper, a most lofty position indeed. This was despite having two fairly sizeable obstacles working against him: an overfondness for asking "how" and "why," hardly in the spirit of curbing one's curiosity, and a father who'd been one of those crackpots who believed in GUS's.

Rodney had spent his childhood trying to ignore his father's strange notions and his rather embarrassing grumbling about the guiding principles, _People weren't meant to stay at home, and why on Atlantea should anyone have to pretend they're not curious? As for technology, what could be more elegant?_

Still, when Rodney's father passed away, Rodney inherited his prized possession, a datapad that had somehow survived the technology purges that had followed in the years after the Great Enemy had been defeated. It contained information about research the people way back when had been conducting, actual science, not mere bean counting.

Rodney could have destroyed the device or turned it over to the appropriate department at the Castle, but instead he secreted it away in his sock drawer. Whenever he had a particularly tedious day at work, he'd come home and take it out and read all about hypotheses and control groups and variables. A restless feeling would stir up in him then, the disquieting suspicion that using his big brain for nothing more important than earning his next promotion was a horrible waste of time.

At work, he did his best to push these doubts aside. He and Radek Zelenka, second in charge in the Recordkeeping department, were just putting the finishing touches on an exhaustive year-long study tallying up the precise number of marble tiles contained in the inhabited areas of the Castle. A commotion outside the door interrupted them, a novelty indeed, since commotions were heartily frowned upon at the Castle. Rodney and Radek exchanged matching looks of disbelief and got up to see what was the matter.

Out in the corridor stood the new military commander, surrounded by a gaggle of admirers.

One hopeful batted her eyes at him. "Won't you come by the Auditing department later, Colonel Sheppard? We have a request by one of the western villages to try a new design for an industrial grade metal fastener. I'd love to get your opinion."

"How do you get your hair to go like that?" Lucius, the rather dim-witted pastry chef, stared dreamily at Sheppard.

Rodney huffed, "Do they have _no_ pride at all?"

"Yes, because you are such a paragon of indifference whenever the Colonel stops by our office," Zelenka remarked dryly.

Rodney glared, not that Radek had the grace to be cowed by it.

Okay, okay, so _fine_ , Sheppard was attractive. It certainly explained how he'd landed his position at the Castle. Atlantea had no standing army, and although there was a cache of guns left over from the days of the Great Enemy, the production of ammunition had long since been phased out. The role of military commander was largely ceremonial, the duties including grand marshaling parades, running fire drills, and breaking up fistfights in the unlikely event that one should ever occur. Sheppard, with his drawling charm and slouchy prettiness and that bedroom hair of his, was the perfect figurehead.

Not that Rodney had been paying attention, mind you.

Sheppard started toward their office, and Rodney and Radek hurried back to their desks, feigning busyness.

"Hey guys." Sheppard lounged in the doorway. "How's the record keeping coming?"

Rodney started babbling before he could stop himself, "We're doing extremely vital work, I'll have you know. Atlantea is run on the back of the Recordkeeping department, whatever anyone else tries to tell you. Those marble tiles were certainly not going to inventory themselves." His face had gone hot by the end of his speech.

Radek shook his head sadly.

"Marble tiles, huh?" Sheppard plopped down on the chair next to Rodney's desk. "So how many are there?"

Rodney tried to focus on his ledger sheet, but Sheppard was a good-smelling distraction, and the numbers blurred on the page. "We're still compiling the final report, but the short answer is: a lot."

"What's the information used for?"

Rodney opened his mouth, not once, or twice, but three times before he managed a feeble, "Do you have any idea how many square meters of building the Physical Structures and Beautification department has to maintain? This could be invaluable to them!"

Sheppard made a dubious face. "They need to know how many tiles there are to clean them?"

Rodney threw down his pen. "Don't you have anything better to do than interrupt my very important work?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Not really. It's kind of boring around here sometimes, don't you think?"

Rodney lifted his chin. "No, I _don't_. It's an honor to work at the Castle. I'm extremely satisfied with my position here, thank you very much.

"Don't you ever want more? To do something new. Solve a real problem. Have just a little excitement?" Sheppard leaned on his elbows, looking interested.

The thought of the datapad hiding beneath his argyles floated through Rodney's head, and he reminded himself that no matter how sleepy Sheppard might appear, he was still the _military commander_ of Atlantea. Technically no rule existed against possessing the Ancestors' technology, but it would hardly be good for Rodney's career.

"Where'd you hear that slander?" he demanded. "It was Kavanagh, wasn't it? He has his eye set on Chief Recordkeeper, even if he is too stupid by far for the position. Have I ever mentioned that I have the highest score on the CSEEs of anyone, ever?"

Sheppard grinned. "Maybe once or twice. Not to worry, Rodney. No one could ever take your place." He clapped Rodney on the arm and rose to his feet. "Well, I'd better get back to it. See you guys later."

Rodney stared down at the place where Sheppard had touched him long after Sheppard had gone.

Zelenka went back to work. "If only everyone had your dignity, Rodney."

* * *

Elizabeth Weir held the highest position at the Castle, that of Manager, and every Wednesday, she gathered the heads of all the departments together for a staff meeting. By nine a.m. sharp, everyone was gathered at the conference table, cradling a mug of coffee or making a trail of Danish crumbs. Everyone except Sheppard, that was.

"Sorry to be late to the party." He strolled into the room at 9:02 and plunked down onto a chair, looking even more devil-may-care than usual.

His hair, always ebullient, was practically doing cartwheels this morning. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes, and he gave off the wired, yet weary air of someone who'd been up half the night. He drummed his fingers restlessly on the tabletop, as if his mind were elsewhere, and there was a decided spark in his eye, excitement or possibly even…mischief. Everyone in the room, including Rodney, stared as if they'd never seen anything like it—which come to think of it, they hadn't.

At last, Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Yes, well, let's get down to business, shall we?"

They went around the table, as they always did during these Wednesday morning meetings, everyone giving a status report on their various projects. Valens stuttered through a recitation of statistics on the harvest. Keller lost her train of thought completely in the middle of updating them about patients in the infirmary. Even Elizabeth seemed to have less than her usual focus.

Sheppard sprawled in his chair with an attentive expression plastered on his face or at least his best impersonation of it. This didn't make him any less distracting. Whatever he'd been up to, he hadn't even bothered to wipe the dust from his sleeves. Rodney spent the entire meeting wondering where that could possibly have come from. No place in the Castle was anything less than pristine, except perhaps for the Tower, where the Ancestors had kept their most guarded secrets. All this technology had long since been deemed unnecessary, and as far as anyone knew, the Tower had been boarded up for centuries.

At last, the meeting lurched to a conclusion. Before Sheppard could scoot out the door, Elizabeth stopped him with a polite smile and a pointed remark. "I hope you're not working yourself too hard, Colonel?"

"You know how it is. Got to stay on top of cleaning those guns nobody's ever going to fire." He walked off whistling.

Elizabeth was left with a deep furrow between her brows.

The very same scene played out the next Wednesday and the next, Sheppard ever more intriguingly rumpled. Finally, Elizabeth called an impromptu Thursday powwow of all the department heads, with the notable absence of Sheppard.

"The Colonel's behavior has been slightly odd lately," she said, choosing her words with care. "I fear he may be—having a bit of an adventure."

There were gasps and widened eyes and cries of _oh, surely not_!

"Sheppard could learn from my example. _I_ have never displayed even the least bit of curiosity about anything." Kavanagh's self-congratulatory idiocy made Rodney want to kick him.

"I'm sure there's nothing to worry about," Elizabeth continued. "But I'd like to get to the bottom of it. The person who can tell me where Colonel Sheppard goes in his off hours has a promotion coming."

"Oh, for—why don't you just ask him?" Rodney found himself, as was often the case, the lone voice of reason.

Elizabeth looked a bit flummoxed by the question. Apparently, this completely obvious solution hadn't occurred to her. But then, she pushed back her shoulders and said loftily, "That would be indulging curiosity too much. This way—well, think of it as a team-building exercise." She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep it as quiet as possible."

Naturally, it was all anyone talked about for days.

By the following Monday, there still had been no volunteers, and Rodney and Radek were discussing this turn of events at lunch.

"Maybe it's because no one wishes to intrude upon the Colonel's privacy?" Radek ventured.

Rodney waved his hand. "They're just afraid of getting busted back down to file clerk if they mess up. The sheep."

"I do not see you volunteering, Rodney."

"I have much more important things to do," Rodney pointed his fork emphatically, "than play babysitter to some athletic-haired—"

"Hey, guys. This seat taken?" Sheppard flopped down onto the empty chair without waiting for an answer.

"Colonel!" Rodney practically choked on the word. "We were just talking about—" He looked to Zelenka, who pretended not to see any desperate plea for help. "Kazoos!" His mouth just seemed to come out with the word of its own volition.

Sheppard's eyebrow quirked upwards. "A new project?"

"Yes, yes, yes." Rodney's head bobbed. "It's extremely important that all the kazoos in the Castle are properly accounted for. You know, obviously not from any musical standpoint, but because of the potential for…noise pollution." He stopped, finally, because he did have _some_ pride.

"Cool," Sheppard said, as if Rodney hadn't just been babbling away like a moron.

Rodney squirmed. Then poked at his food. "The sweet potato surprise doesn't seem too harrowing today."

Sheppard grinned. "Turkey sandwich isn't bad, either."

Rodney sighed inwardly. Okay, this was _stupid_. The next thing he knew, he'd be prattling on about the weather. He made frog eyes at Zelenka, who still seemed perfectly amused to let him sink or swim in his own awkwardness.

Before Rodney could actually break under the strain of trying to make small talk, Shepard took charge of the conversation. "So, I guess neither of you is taking up Elizabeth on her offer."

Radek dropped his fork, and Rodney snorted grape juice out his nose. He feared there was no way to feign innocence when he had purple stuff dribbling down his chin.

Sheppard breezed on, "Not too many people seem interested, even with a promotion up for grabs. Must be that 'curb your curiosity' thing. Still, it is a teambuilding exercise. I should probably do my part to encourage it. I was thinking whoever manages to follow me should get my hand in marriage or something." He shrugged. "Or, hey, at least we can fool around a little." He glanced down at his watch. "Oops. I've got the Sanitation department inspection in five. Got to run."

Zelenka waited for the dining halls doors to close behind him before remarking, "Did you hear that, Rodney? You have your chance at last."

Rodney glowered at him. "I have no idea what you mean."

Radek smiled around a fork full of sweet potato surprise. "No, no, of course you don't."

* * *

Word always traveled quickly at the Castle, but this was just _ridiculous_ , at least in Rodney's opinion. Volunteers for Elizabeth's little "teambuilding exercise" started lining up right after Sheppard made his declaration. By dinnertime, there were so many eager applicants they'd resorted to keeping a list.

Not that Rodney cared, mind you.

His work naturally took him all over the Castle, and if that evening he suddenly found heating ducts that needed inventorying in the corridor outside Sheppard's quarters, well, that was purely a coincidence. To his dismay, he wasn't the only one skulking about. Laura Cadman had arm wrestled Evan Lorne for the honors of having the first crack at Sheppard, and she was hunkered down beside his doorway, with a thermos of coffee and a resolute expression.

The doors slid open, and Sheppard peered out. Rodney busied himself with his clipboard.

"Hiya, Colonel." Cadman smiled gamely.

Sheppard nodded. "Can't promise you much in the way of excitement, but you're welcome to come in. Have some wine. Bed down in the spare room. Easier to keep an eye on me that way."

"Thanks!" Cadman's ponytail bobbed as she sauntered inside.

Sheppard caught Rodney staring and winked. The _bastard_.

Rodney spent a restless night imagining Cadman getting her sticky fingers all over Sheppard—or, worse yet, becoming Mrs. Colonel. However at breakfast the next morning, she bent over her bowl of oatmeal looking glum, if well rested. Sheppard shambled in much later, tousled and loose-limbed, with the decided air of a man who'd had quite the adventure the night before. Rodney stirred his coffee cheerfully, enjoying the fact that Cadman had so obviously failed.

It was the same story night after night. Sheppard was always perfectly hospitable, helpful even. He left the door to the spare room open, and kept the lights on, and set out a stack of books on the bedside table for his guest's perusal. Every morning, the hopeful volunteer woke from a deep, snoring sleep to find Sheppard's bed empty, no sign of him anywhere, and no memory of having drifted off.

"It's a ridiculous distraction," Rodney scoffed one day at work. "That's why I'd never volunteer."

"Uh-huh," Zelenka said, with a maddening absence of inflection.

Rodney's glance snapped up from the page of his ledger book. "You don't believe me?"

Zelenka wore his most innocent expression. "Why would I have any reason to doubt you, Rodney? Actually, I have heard that Kavanagh is next on the list to try."

Rodney snorted. "Another failure."

"Do not be so certain. He claims to have inside information and a foolproof plan. I'm sure the mystery will be solved by morning, and Kavanagh can claim his reward. "

The thought of Sheppard and the thought of Kavanagh, two things that Rodney liked to keep immaculately separate, collided in his brain, and his _nooooooooooooo!_ could be heard to the farthest reaches of the Castle.

He was breathless by the time he reached Elizabeth's office, having run the whole way. "Me next! Me, me, me!"

She raised an eyebrow. "I take it this is about Colonel Sheppard?"

"It's been weeks and weeks, and nothing. Let me try tonight, and I guarantee you'll have your answer by morning."

She gave him a long, speculative look and at last nodded. "I'll let Mr. Kavanagh know."

Rodney breathed out in relief. "Thank you." He was turning to go when a thought struck him. "Um—on the outside chance that I don't—not that there's any reason to believe that I won't. I am a genius, after all. It's just—there's no possibility of a demotion here, right?"

Elizabeth smiled, in a way that seemed to suggest, _that's for me to know and you to find out_.

In the afternoon, Sheppard stopped by Rodney's office. "So, I hear we'll be seeing each other tonight." He leaned against Rodney's desk, picking up his stapler and putting it down again in the wrong place.

Usually this drove Rodney nuts, but today he was too busy blushing to pay much attention.

Sheppard clapped him on the back, smiling. "Well, good luck, buddy."

Rodney did his best to buckle down to work once Sheppard had gone, but, hey, it was _Sheppard_ , and Rodney was only human. He put down his pen and went off to get some coffee. When he returned, there was something tucked underneath his ledger book.

It was a gadget of some sort, obviously a piece of the Ancestors' technology, a display of blinking, moving dots. He frowned as he examined it, and then an idea occurred to him. He looked out into the hall and checked the gizmo, and sure enough, the dots corresponded to people. He tucked it into his pocket for safekeeping.

That night, he went to Sheppard's quarters and stood outside shifting his weight, clenching and unclenching his hands, trying to pretend that his palms weren't sweating. He took a breath and let it out and rang the chime. The doors slid open, and there was Sheppard.

Rodney stuttered, "Colonel."

Sheppard stepped back to let him pass, grinning. "You should probably call me John. We are going to be sleeping together."

Rodney managed not to trip over his own feet, but just barely.

"In the same quarters, anyway." John swept his arm out toward the couch. "Make yourself at home."

"Aren't you going to offer me wine?" There was practically a script for how these evenings went, and Rodney was sensitive to any deviation.

John shrugged. "I've got tangerine schnapps, but I don't want to kill you."

Rodney put his hands on his hips. "Everyone else got wine!"

"How about coffee?" John offered in a mollifying tone.

Rodney grudgingly accepted and took a seat on the sofa. While John made the coffee, Rodney looked around. John's quarters were neatly kept, the decoration at a minimum, a few hangings on the wall, some books stacked up on the end table. His desk stood by the windows. There was a page of scribbling lying on it, something that looked like a math proof, and when Rodney went to inspect it, actually _was_ a math proof.

"Oh my God! You're _smart_."

It came out like an accusation, which made John laugh. "Just trying to keep busy."

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "What did you say your CSEE score was?"

"I didn't," John answered. "I think it was 1550, 1555, something like that."

This was just a few points shy of Rodney's score. "I've never seen you at any of our Top Percentilers meetings."

John shook his head. "I just never got around to joining." He brought Rodney his coffee and plunked down next to him on the sofa.

"I don't actually have any idea how a person becomes military commander," Rodney admitted, realizing that there was so much he didn't know about his crush—um, Sheppard.

"There's an academy. You study for the CSEE, do physical training, learn the military arts, shooting and hand-to-hand combat and strategy, even though there's not much chance you'll ever use them. When they need a new military commander, they pick whoever had the best balance of academics and practical stuff."

"Oh," Rodney said, with a twinge of guilt that he'd ever considered Sheppard just some figurehead with a pretty face.

"What part of Atlantea is your family from?" Rodney asked, looking around and frowning. "You don't seem to have any photos."

"Nope," John went suddenly tight-lipped. "I don't."

Rodney fidgeted, unhappy that he'd apparently said the wrong thing. He fumbled around for some change of subject, and what came tumbling out was an unfortunate confession, "Families are always weird. My father believed in GUS's."

John's shoulders relaxed instantly, and his eyes sparked with interest. "Really?"

Rodney nodded. "You can keep a secret, right?" He lowered his voice confidentially. "He wasn't too crazy about the guiding principles, either."

John leaned in and brought his voice down to a matching level. "He sounds really cool."

"Is that code for 'crackpot'?"

John chuckled, and Rodney realized he could feel John's breath against his cheek. If he closed his eyes and moved just a little closer...

John got suddenly to his feet. "Hey, it's late. We should turn in, don't you think?"

"Of course!" Rodney scrambled up from the sofa, doing his best to whitewash over his disappointment.

John showed him into the spare room. "Let me know if you need anything."

Rodney nodded absently.

John hesitated a moment. "Well, goodnight."

"Hey," Rodney said. "Just so you know. I've never agreed with this whole 'team building exercise' thing. Wherever you go, whatever you do, it's your business, and I know it isn't anything bad. Because you're...well, _you_."

John smiled softly. "Thanks, Rodney."

* * *

It felt as if Rodney had been asleep for, oh, maybe fifteen minutes when a terrible clattering jolted him awake. If John was always this incompetent in his sneaking, Rodney found it amazing that anyone had managed to snooze through it. He jumped up from bed, went charging into the next room, but John's bed was empty. There was no hint of him anywhere.

He stalled for a moment, passing a hand over his hair as he thought what to do, and then it occurred to him: the Ancestors' gadget!

There weren't many dots out and about in the dead of night and only one moving steadily toward the unused part of the Castle. Rodney followed, taking two transporters, wending along countless hallways, and finally struggling through a hole cut in the planks that boarded up the Tower. When he emerged on the other side, he was coughing, the same powdery dust on his sleeves that Sheppard often sported.

"Took you long enough." John stood there in the passageway, looking impatient.

His complete lack of surprise took Rodney aback. What if this had all been some kind of test? "Okay, okay! My curiosity is curbed. Honestly! And technology? Pooey!" He hastily tucked away the Ancestors' gadget.

"Relax. Who do think left that for you?" John slung an arm across Rodney's shoulders. "Come on. There's something I want to show you."

He led Rodney down one dusty corridor then another and another, swiped his hand at a sensor, and the doors slid open to reveal…the most beautiful place Rodney had ever seen.

"It's a lab," he whispered reverently.

John smiled broadly. "I thought you'd like it."

Rodney drifted from station to station, stopped at one and studied the controls. He keyed in a sequence, and data started to scroll by on the screen. "It's even better than the pad my father gave me," he found himself blabbing.

"There's more." John sounded like a kid the night before a festival.

Rodney fell in beside him, bouncing on the balls of his feet, feeling a bit like a kid himself.

They went along more halls and up a short flight of stairs and into a small room filled with consoles. Rodney looked out, and down below was an enormous metal ring inscribed with symbols.

Rodney stared. "What—"

"They called it a stargate," Sheppard supplied. "The Ancestors put them all over the galaxy. Creates an artificial wormhole for quick travel between planets."

"All the old stories about interplanetary exploration—that's how they did it."

"It's one way," John corrected.

Rodney boggled. " _One_ way?"

John grinned. "Come on. You still haven't seen the best part."

Rodney couldn't imagine anything more impressive, at least until they passed through a set of heavy, reinforced doors, and then he stopped in his tracks. "They're—"

"Space ships," John finished the sentence for him.

Not one, not two, but a good dozen of them.

"The Ancestors had some truly massive ships from what I've seen in their database," John explained. "These are just some little puddlejumpers they used for short trips."

"But what—" Rodney frowned. "What are they doing here?"

John grinned. "Let me show you."

He took Rodney by the arm and walked him to one of the jumpers. The back hatch opened. John stepped inside, and Rodney hesitated.

"Come on," John coaxed. "You're going to like it. Trust me."

They settled into the seats up front, and John put his hands on the control, and then, oh God, they were _moving_. A door opened in the floor, and the jumper lowered through it to the room with the stargate.

"Hold on." John punched in a sequence of commands.

The stargate glowed to life, and the ring started to move, and then the jumper shot forward.

On the other side, Rodney hollered, "That did _not_ just happen!"

"Cool, huh?"

Rodney stared out the window. "We're not—that's not Atlantea!"

John shook his head. "Nope. It sure isn't."

"Are you crazy? You've brought me to another _world_. There could be anything down there! History could be wrong, and the Great Enemy could just be—I don't know, sleeping or something! We could get killed by firebreathing dragons. Or demons. Or, or—okay, so maybe not GUS's, since they're obviously just a ridiculous made-up—"

"Actually—"

Rodney went still. "Oh, don't tell me."

"Yep," John said cheerfully. "Your father wasn't so much a crackpot as he was, you know, _right_. The good news is that the Wraith—that's what the GUS's were called—aren't sleeping. They're gone for good. And before you start in on how there could be other bad stuff down there, I've been to this planet before. It's safe, or I wouldn't have brought you."

John landed the jumper and bounced up from his seat.

"Now what?" Rodney asked.

John opened a compartment and took out what Rodney would have sworn was a picnic basket. "What do you think?" He had the audacity to grin.

Rodney geared up for round two of his ranting, about how sneaky John was, and that it would have been nice to have some warning, but then he stepped outside, and all the complaining went right out of him.

"Wow," he said softly, looking up at the pale mauve sky with its twin suns. "We're really not on Atlantea anymore."

John rested his hand on the back of Rodney's neck. "There's this spot I want to show you."

They took off through the woods. The grass was green like back home, but the leaves of the trees were brilliantly candy colored. Rodney could hear water and then smell it. They crested a slight rise, and there it was, the most towering waterfall he'd ever seen.

"Wow," the word just escaped him.

"Neat, huh?"

Rodney shook his head. "Your gift for understatement is truly dizzying."

John grinned, looking quite pleased with himself. He set down the picnic basket on a grassy patch and shook out the blanket. Rodney settled cross-legged onto it, and John stretched out beside him and began unpacking their snack. There was cold chicken and pasta salad, brownies and wine.

Rodney raised an eyebrow at the bottle. "You were holding out on me."

"I was saving it," John corrected. "That's completely different." He handed Rodney a glass. "Just be glad yours doesn't have any of Dr. Keller's sleeping powders in it." He grinned mischievously.

They ate their food and drank their wine. It was funny to think that it was nighttime back at the Castle. Here both suns rode high in the sky, light falling golden heavy on the grass. John was sitting close enough that Rodney could feel the stir of his breath, the heat of his body. For the first time in his life, he had an inkling of what it meant to be truly content.

When they'd finished their meal, John bumped Rodney's shoulder with his own. "So. You figured out the mystery. I remember making a promise about that."

Rodney's back stiffened. "Believe it or not, Colonel, I have no intention of forcing you to honor that bargain, and I'm insulted you'd assume that I'm the kind of jerk who'd—"

"Rodney, shut _up_." John leaned over and kissed him.

There was not the least hint of obligation in it, and Rodney murmured wonderingly, "Oh."

John broke into a goofy grin. "Yeah."

And then they were kissing in earnest.

Rodney ended up on his back, John on top of him. John stripped them both of their shirts, and then he was everywhere, a frenzy of touching, one moment pressing his face hotly against Rodney's neck, the next stroking Rodney's chest and kissing his nipples. He scrabbled at Rodney's belt and yanked down his zipper.

Rodney squirmed beneath him. "Oh, hold on. Hold _on_! Don't tell me all this sneaking around and not being very subtle about it has just been some elaborate ploy to get in my pants?"

John touched Rodney's cock through his underwear. "Is that a problem?"

"Um," Rodney's voice came out a squeak. "No. No problem."

He squeaked some more, and maybe even whimpered a little, when John shoved his underwear down to his legs and proceeded to put his hands and his lips and his tongue all over him.

When John pulled away, Rodney groaned, _loudly_. John stood and shucked the rest of his clothes, his chest rising and falling heavily, his cock dark with blood. Rodney made grabby hands at him. "Get back down here."

John rummaged around in the picnic basket and came up with a bottle of lubricant and condoms.

"Oh, you _would_ assume I'm that easy," Rodney huffed, not especially convincingly.

John just smiled. He knelt at Rodney's side, pressed a kiss to Rodney's cock and rolled a condom on him.

Rodney blinked. "You mean you want—"

John squeezed slick stuff onto his fingers, reached behind himself and went back down on Rodney.

Rodney moaned, grabbing at John's shoulders. "Okay, yes, yes, I'm easy. So very, very, _very_ easy."

John hummed contentedly as he sucked, and _that_ —oh God, that was just—Rodney's muzzy brain lacked a word for just how good it was. Possibly John guessed as much, because when he lifted his head, he was smiling just a little smugly. He threw his leg across Rodney's body and eased himself down onto Rodney's cock.

Some floodgate in Rodney's brain opened, and he started babbling, all kinds of things he probably shouldn't be admitting, "Ever since—the first time, first time I saw you, and then you were _smart_ , and oh God. I've thought about—how you'd look when, and it was hot, because—of course it was. But not this hot. Because you're _here_. And I'm—I just really, really—"

John leaned down to kiss him.

Rodney put one hand on John's waist and the other on his cock. John made a noise in the back of his throat, and Rodney pushed his hips up harder. "You're beautiful," he whispered.

John braced his hands against Rodney's shoulders and came all over his chest. Rodney's eyes flew shut, and the air simmered in his lungs, and as he came in John's sweet, clenching body, it was impossible to imagine that anything, even if he lived a long, long time, could ever be better than this.

Afterwards, John lolled with his head on Rodney's chest.

Rodney pressed kisses to John's hair, again and again, because he _could_. "I can't believe you went to so much trouble for this."

John stroked a hand over Rodney's stomach. "Just trying to get your attention."

Rodney snorted. "Because that was such a challenge."

John pushed up onto his elbow to look at Rodney. "I wanted to bring you here, and I thought you'd—but, hey, I needed to be sure. I never expected Elizabeth to be so bad at curbing her curiosity." He smiled, a little meanly.

"You really hate the guiding principles, don't you?" Rodney shook his head. "I can't believe I've fallen for someone who's just like my father."

John grinned. "You hate them, too. You know you do." He kissed Rodney. "Curbing your curiosity so doesn't suit you."

They got dressed and went back to the jumper and traveled back through the gate to Atlantea. Rodney took his time disembarking from the ship. He lingered in the control room. As they headed down the corridor toward the inhabited part of the city, his pace grew progressively slower.

John squeezed his shoulder. "We can come back. Any time you want."

They climbed through the hole in the planks. It appeared they'd stayed out adventuring longer than they should have. The sun was already up, the Castle stirring to life. If anyone noticed them coming from the vicinity of the Tower, it would surely arouse suspicions.

"Hold on." John pulled out a circle of metal, another device of the Ancestors apparently. "This thing—they called it a personal cloak. It projects a field that makes you invisible to people."

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "So _that's_ how you always managed to slip away without anybody catching you."

John grinned. "Gotta love that technology." He reached out for Rodney's hand. "If you stand close enough, it should cloak us both."

It worked like a charm. They slipped past young file clerks bustling off to their jobs bright and early, in the hopes of impressing their bosses and earning a promotion. They were about to turn down the corridor to John's quarters when they heard voices, one of them distinctly Elizabeth's.

John shut off the device. "Just act natural."

A small crowd was milling around outside John's room. They went still and quiet when they caught sight of John and Rodney.

Elizabeth said, "Gentlemen, we've been looking for you."

Kavanagh crossed his arms over his chest. "I came by first thing this morning to enjoy the spectacle of the great Rodney McKay wallowing in abject failure, and imagine my surprise when no one was here. I should have known you'd wimp out, McKay."

"Or perhaps he's solved the mystery," Radek pointed out.

Elizabeth gave them a penetrating look. "Yes, Rodney. Which is it?"

"Um—" He couldn't betray John's secret, but lying had never been his strong suit. He prepared himself for the dismal prospect of returning to the file room.

John spoke up, "Oh, I think the answer's pretty obvious."

His mouth curved suggestively, and his eyes were suddenly heavy lidded. He looked so smolderingly post-coital, so carnally besmirched that even Rodney was startled by it, and he was the one who'd gotten John that way. There were all kinds of wink-wink-nudge-nudge glances, and rather belatedly, Rodney clapped his hand self-consciously to his neck, trying to cover up what he suspected was one hell of a hickey.

"What?" he snapped, when everyone kept staring. "Like you've never seen two people who have just—"

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Yes, well. I think this—explains things. We all have work to do. I suggest we get to it."

The crowd drifted away. Kavanagh went grumbling that _he'd_ be the one sporting love bites right now if only Rodney hadn't usurped his place on the list. Zelenka tossed a backward glance at Rodney that had "I told you so" written all over it.

Only Elizabeth lingered. "You could have told me that all this distraction and sneaking was simply—well, that there was a romance involved." She didn't actually point her finger at them, but her tone certainly implied it.

John shrugged. "You never asked me. Besides, you had your heart set on a team building exercise. We didn't want to mess that up."

Elizabeth went a little red in the face, but she hadn't become Manager of the Castle by letting embarrassment get in her way. She lifted her chain and said with great dignity, "Gentlemen."

She was halfway down the hall when Rodney thought to ask, "Wait. I am still getting that promotion, right?"

Not terribly surprisingly, the question went unanswered.

John yawned. "I could use a nap before my shift starts." He draped his arm across Rodney's shoulders. "Come on."

It hadn't occurred to Rodney to try putting words to their new relationship, at least not until they were naked and in bed together and John's body was wrapped around his. Even then, he wasn't very _good_ at it, "So—this is a…thing, right?"

John tightened his arms around Rodney and said happily, "I remember something about promising my hand in marriage."

"What are we going to do?" He stroked the back of John's hand. "With all this—stuff we know."

"Well," John said thoughtfully, "it's not like the guiding principles are going away anytime soon. But I figure we just have to do what we can, ask questions, and try to shake people up, make them think, and who knows? Maybe someday they'll get it."

Rodney couldn't help sighing, just a little. "They're going to call us crackpots."

He felt John's smile against his shoulder. "Probably. But hey, at least it'll be an adventure."


End file.
